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A review by holmesstorybooks
Kiss of the Fur Queen by Tomson Highway
5.0
If people are looking into human history millennia from now, I hope they find this book. If aliens were to take form and come to my house, I'd hand them this book.
Highway takes the two lives of two young men, Champion (Jeremiah) and Ooneemeetoo (Gabriel) and gives you everything about their lives. The Residential school system, their lives in Mistik lake and the men they become. Jeremiah, afraid of his Indian identity, and Gabriel, battling with his own queerness.
This book is visceral -- it mentions blood, sweat, tears, cum, shit, all without flinching, without looking away. It points out the absurdity of colonialism and dips into one of my favourite things -- pointing out the ridiculousness of the English language. Cree is like a code, spoken softly, spoken secretly, two boys like spies against the world.
Music, in this book, behaves like a language. A language that transcends all barriers. It lifts Jeremiah out of residential school and, after ten years of not playing, lifts him out of his own personal struggles again.
I can see Gabriel so clearly, so vividly, that sometimes, while reading his chapters, I would cry. I feel his presence beside me. I wanted to wrap him up in my arms and protect him and tell him I love him. Every time he danced, I felt it. Every time he smiled, I felt it. Every time his heart hurt, I felt it.
This book is redemption and ruin all at once.
And somewhere, out there, Weesageechak, the trickster, the raven, the coyote, the Fur Queen, is dancing, laughing, singing. And somewhere, out there, Tomson Highway heard.
Highway takes the two lives of two young men, Champion (Jeremiah) and Ooneemeetoo (Gabriel) and gives you everything about their lives. The Residential school system, their lives in Mistik lake and the men they become. Jeremiah, afraid of his Indian identity, and Gabriel, battling with his own queerness.
This book is visceral -- it mentions blood, sweat, tears, cum, shit, all without flinching, without looking away. It points out the absurdity of colonialism and dips into one of my favourite things -- pointing out the ridiculousness of the English language. Cree is like a code, spoken softly, spoken secretly, two boys like spies against the world.
Music, in this book, behaves like a language. A language that transcends all barriers. It lifts Jeremiah out of residential school and, after ten years of not playing, lifts him out of his own personal struggles again.
I can see Gabriel so clearly, so vividly, that sometimes, while reading his chapters, I would cry. I feel his presence beside me. I wanted to wrap him up in my arms and protect him and tell him I love him. Every time he danced, I felt it. Every time he smiled, I felt it. Every time his heart hurt, I felt it.
This book is redemption and ruin all at once.
And somewhere, out there, Weesageechak, the trickster, the raven, the coyote, the Fur Queen, is dancing, laughing, singing. And somewhere, out there, Tomson Highway heard.